


I can see it now

by raine_go_away



Series: speak now [1]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, Junior Hockey, Kent-centric, M/M, Past Kent Parson/Jack Zimmermann, except for ransom (but he's there don't worry), overdose - mention, the au where everyone goes to samwell and plays hockey, the overdose is canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-08-24 06:42:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8361451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raine_go_away/pseuds/raine_go_away
Summary: Kent isn't sure how he got here. Here as in a college where his ex best friend won't even look at him except for a pass on the ice. Or how he ended up owning a nearly feral cat. Or how he ended up with a self-appointed bodyguard, pseudo-therapist with the warmest brown eyes that Kent has ever seen. He is sure about one thing though, sure that he is exhausted and really just needs a break.





	

**Author's Note:**

> ok so i wrote this yesterday after a long ass day at a cross country meet where i tried to sleep on the bumpiest bus ride at like 4 in the morning and it made me think of kent which then made me sad which then brought me here. 
> 
> and i wrote this when i was exhausted, so there are probably a ton of typos and tense shifts and whatever. so please just love me. 
> 
> (this is going to be part of a series of fics inspired by songs off of the speak now album by taylor swift. so. enjoy?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so i wrote this yesterday after a long ass day at a cross country meet where i tried to sleep on the bumpiest bus ride at like 4 in the morning and it made me think of kent which then made me sad which then brought me here.
> 
> and i wrote this when i was exhausted, so there are probably a ton of typos and tense shifts and whatever. so please just love me.
> 
> (this is going to be part of a series of fics inspired by songs off of the speak now album by taylor swift. so. enjoy?)

At this point of his life, Kent is used to being on the backroads in the dead of night. These drives have happened in his life so often, he’s gotten used to falling asleep with constant commotion, constant noise, constant cold.

 

Once, he and his mom did this drive with his baby sister in the back seat as they sped for the city. Bleary-eyed Kent asked his mother why they were leaving without dad, where they were going, why this was happening. She just had silent tear tracks streaking down her face, occasionally breaking her silence to gently shush Sara.

 

This is when Kent learned that these types of rides were the ones where you didn’t speak. He quickly realized that the best way to get through these things were to sleep or stare out the window until the sunrise burned his eyes.

 

They happened often, especially during hockey season, when his mom would gently wake him up in his room at an ungodly hour in the morning for him to change and pile into the car with all of his gear. His mother would drive for hours on end for the tournaments, especially when the game was first thing in the morning. He always thanked her, Kent was a good kid. He would hug her as he got out of the car only for her to laugh and swat at his arm, telling him he needed to go get in the rink, go meet with his team. And he would. Kent always listened to her.

 

_/   \\_

 

When he entered the Q, these early morning drives didn’t change as the team traveled from city to city for their games. Kent didn’t mind, was always so used to sleeping wherever he could at this point. Plus, in the first few months, no one bothered to speak to him. He was the filthy American, he didn’t know Quebecois, couldn’t get his mouth to make the right sounds.

 

It didn’t matter though, he just kept his head down and played hockey. With his size and a new level of play, it took him a few games to get into a groove. He was pulled from the starting line, moved his way down, that is, until one game Rimouski won in a shut out completely because of Kent’s hat trick. His goals brought a strange wave of recognition over the team, suddenly he had the affectionate slaps on the back when he would score, he could hear his name being shouted at for a pass on the ice.

 

That game made everyone look at him again, and he looked back with the same exhausted stare he’s worn since he was fourteen.

 

(Because he worked two jobs to balance the cost of playing club hockey until Rimouski. And he was trying his hardest to keep his grades up, because that was the deal he and his mother set out. He hardly slept. The sport wore him down to his bones, but it was worth it. He loved it. He learned to love being sleepless.)

 

That night, after the game, their bus was late and the rink had been closed up. So, the entire roster of Rimouski Oceanic stood out on the sidewalk under street lights, just waiting for the bus.

 

And then there was Kent, curled up on the concrete in a near fetal position, his head on his bag and his jacket zipped up to his nose. He drifted off comfortably, aware of the conversations around him enough to be able to tell when the bus would arrive.

 

Then, he felt a nudge on his leg. He peeked his eyes open, squinting up blearily to see these blue eyes staring down at him skeptically.

 

“Why are you sleeping?” a voice asked him, and Kent had to blink a few times to realize it was Jack Zimmermann who was asking him. Jack Zimmermann who was too good to be out casted but too isolated to be a core member of the team.

 

“Because I’m tired?” Kent countered, his nose crinkling in confusion. Jack’s blank expression didn’t change.

 

“But it’s freezing,” he pointed out. That was rich, Kent loved when Canadians told him that it was cold, because he definitely knew. He was the _southerner_. “And the concrete is hard.”

 

Kent just shrugged, his head falling back onto his bag and his eyes closing once again. “It’s fine. Just need to sleep.”

 

Jack didn’t ask him anything else after that, just let Kent fall back asleep on his bag until the bus rolled in close to forty minutes later. That’s when he decided to wake Kent with another nudge of the leg with his foot, with Kent grumbling as he got up and followed onto the bus.

 

Most of the guys prefer to sit in the back, because they’re all teenagers and dumb, and the back of the bus is still cool. Kent just collapses in the first few rows, dumping his bag on the ground and somehow scrunching himself up into a position where he could lay across two seats and would pass out.

 

(That night, when they get back to Rimouski, someone wakes Kent up rather forcefully. Kent’s sitting up, pushing his hair back and searching for who, but he looks out the windows to see Jack Zimmermann follow his host family and go home.)

 

_/   \\_

 

Their next game is at home, and Kent gets pushed onto the starting line this time. With none other than Jack Zimmermann.

 

That night, their passes connect like no other, with Jack controlling the center of the ice and shooting the puck down the wing for Kent to sprint and scoop it up for the shot. They don’t even speak on the ice, don’t discuss plays of any sort, they just connect the passes and score.

 

After the game, Jack nudges his shoulder as they get to the locker room before they talk with their coaches. “Good game,” is all he says, so Kent figures it means something.

 

“You too,” he manages to say, but it’s not even acknowledged as Jack heads for the showers.

 

_/   \\_

 

Their next roadie, they have to leave at three in the morning and Kent is the first one on the bus so he could fall back asleep. So, as the rest of the team piles on, he gets comfortable with his jacket pulled up all the way and his shoes off, just the way he likes it.

 

And he’s about to figure out how to squish himself into the seat to lay down when someone just sits in the open seat next to him.

 

He stares at Jack Zimmerman who has this stupid fucking beanie on with some of his hair poking out, and he’s fumbling with his bag before shoving it on the ground. He doesn’t even acknowledge Kent until he’s shifting to get comfortable and meets Kent’s stare with a bewildered look in his eyes.

 

“Good morning,” is all he says. Kent just lets out a hum of acknowledgement and shrugs a bit before settling in his seat, head against his window to fall asleep.

 

(That night, on the drive back home, Kent let’s his head slip onto Jack’s shoulder because he’s so warm and firm and _there_. Jack doesn’t move, so he falls into a deep sleep.)

 

_/   \\_

 

They start talking at practice now that they’ve become a unit on the ice. Finally, they discuss plays with each other, and their level of play just elevates. The rest of the team acknowledges them now. They move from the outside to becoming a central part of the team.

 

There are few perks to Kent’s constant exhaustion, and that’s his ability to use dry sarcasm. He gets known for his chirps on the team, even though some of them can’t even understand what he is trying to say.

 

So, finally, Kent corners Jack in the locker room after a practice with a determined look in his gray eyes.

 

“You’re going to teach me French.”

 

Jack looked at him, his eyes unreadable, before he finally said, “It’s Quebecois,” in a pained voice. Kent took that as a yes.

 

After that, Kent started going over to Jack’s host family’s house as often as he could. The two mostly worked in silence at first, just doing homework in the same room before Jack would randomly declare vocabulary words.

 

They got closer that way, Kent learned what he could about Jack from him. Which wasn’t much, at least to Jack there wasn’t much to him besides hockey and his parents. Kent saw everything else though, saw his hesitancy in social situations and learned that he preferred silence to all else because his brain can just get so loud and the world becomes too much.

 

Kent learned that there were days when Jack needed Kent to talk nonstop, so he could focus on anything but what was in his head. He knew which sweaters Jack preferred, knew his favorite color was blue, and told him it was when they filled out a player questionnaire for the Rimouski roster write up in the newspaper.

 

(“What, wait. How do you know that?” “Jack. Your favorite color is blue. Just trust me.” “But how—“ “ _Jack_.”)

 

It took a while, but Kent began to pick up the language when Jack made the decision that they would only speak to each other in it. And Kent, afraid to lose the one true friend he had, took to studying harder than he ever had before.

 

(Jack slowly learned about Kent too, learned about the anger that Kent harbored towards his father for hurting his mother when he was growing up. There were nights when Kent called him and talked about how much he missed his sister and how home seemed so far away, and Jack just listened.)

 

_/   \\_

 

They became a unit, on the ice, at school. Kent learned that smiling was much easier than he thought it was, and Jack allowed himself to open up around the team more with Kent’s prompting.

 

Some days, Jack would walk back into his room to find Kent curled up on the literal corner of the bed, or in an extremely uncomfortable looking position at his desk, and just nudge him awake as always.

 

(Some days the nudging didn’t do the trick, and that’s when Jack would stand there and study the lines of Kent’s face and see the pure exhaustion that was written into him. That’s when he would try his best to move Kent into a position where he didn’t look like he was going to break his neck and cover him with a blanket and just let him sleep.)

 

Kent spent so many nights sleeping on Jack’s hardwood floors because he didn’t want to go home, and those were the same nights where they would speak in whispers in Quebecois until finally Jack dozed off.

 

(Jack pretended to be asleep, just so Kent would.)

 

_/   \\_

 

Eventually, Jack told Kent to stop falling asleep on the ground so his back wouldn’t be hurting every time they went to practice. This time, Kent was the one who was hesitant when he allowed himself to tentatively squish into the space Jack made on the bed. Because he didn’t deserve this space, he was fine on the floor, really, he’s done it so many times before…

 

“Kenny,” Jack said firmly, breaking through Kent’s mental chatter until he just stared at him blankly. “I don’t want you to sleep on the floor.”

 

Kent doesn’t say anything, doesn’t know quite how to reply. Instead he just stares at Jack with wide eyes, taking in the way his blue eyes glowed in the dark. He lets himself scoot closer to Jack, mentally telling himself that he was just getting comfortable.

 

Jack’s hand settles on Kent’s hip, and Kent freezes, looking back at him and just feeling his breathing shorten ever so slightly.

 

“Kenny,” Jack repeated, but he doesn’t continue.

 

“Zimms,” he returns, just waiting, and he swears he could hear his heartbeat at this point. “Can I kiss you?” he hears himself breathe out, and he sees Jack’s eyes go wide before he nods ever so slightly.

 

And Kent scoots impossibly close, tangles his fingers in Jack’s hair, and just kisses him in a way that makes him feel like he’s being electrocuted. Jack’s touch is hot on his skin, and they become a tangle of limbs until the pure adrenaline wears off and Kent finds himself just as exhausted as he was earlier.

 

He settles against Jack’s chest, curling up, and lets himself doze. He can feel Jack’s lips on his temple, and warmth surges through him rapidly. He tries to get closer, and falls asleep just thinking nothing could get better than that.

 

_/   \\_

 

After that, things are good. Their chemistry on the ice just gets better and better. They’re both just glowing half the time, more inseparable than ever.

 

(They kiss a lot now too, during their late night homework sessions where Jack kisses him wildly every time he gets a flashcard and pronunciation of a certain vocabulary word right. Some days, after practice, Kent tugs Jack into a supply room at the rink, and when Jack is kissing his neck, he thinks this is it. This is what he’s always wanted. To feel wanted, like he belonged.)

 

Quickly, they get noticed by the hockey world, becoming the talk of the season, because this is Bad Bob’s son, putting up unprecedented goals and assists with one of the only Americans in the Q. Tentatively, Kent manages to coax Jack into doing interviews after their games with Rimouski.

 

They interview together though, always together. They once tried it separately, and Jack looked like a fish out of water, his eyes wide and searching for Kent’s face among the reporters in the locker room.

 

So, they do the press stuff together, pressed against each other’s sides. Most of the interviews are in Quebecois, and Jack helps him when he can’t find a certain word. Soon, he’s fluent, and the two of them jump from language to language together. It’s seamless, Kent loves it.

 

One day, after a particularly spectacular win (they were down three by the third period, but he and Jack pushed down to the last minute where Kent landed his last shot in the corner of the net with only seconds to spare before overtime) they get asked about their future plans.

 

“Are you two getting excited for the NHL draft?” the reporter asks them, her eyes soft and gentle. Like she was personally proud for them.

 

Jack is immediately nodding, but it’s Kent who shrugs, and it earns him surprised glances.

 

“My mom wants me to go to college, and I hope to play hockey there. Once I get my degree, then I can look at the NHL,” he admits, earning him a steady eyed stare from Jack. Jack then clears his throat.

 

“I’m keeping my options open,” he declares, his eyes never leaving Kent’s face. Kent can feel his cheeks flush as a grin breaks out across his face.

 

(That night, they get to their hotel room in Toronto, and Kent is being pressed into the mattress, absolutely breathless as Jack kisses him. He pulls back, his eyes just as bright as ever. “I’ll follow you anywhere, you know that, right?” he whispers in such a fierce tone that all Kent can do is nod and tug him into another kiss.)

 

The next day, all headlines read, “Bob Zimmermann’s Son Not Following His Footsteps?” as they speculate that Jack will follow Kent to play collegiately.

 

On the bus ride back, Kent’s head is pressed against Jack’s shoulder, his eyes resting closed. They have a blanket over their laps, and their fingers are tangled together underneath it. Jack answers his phone with a quiet, “ _Bonjour, Maman_.”

 

Kent strains his ears to listen to the conversation, but it’s hard when the Quebecois is rapid and in a quiet whisper. But he knows what the conversation is about: hockey.

 

When Jack hangs up, Kent peeks his eyes open to look up at Jack who just offers him a smile, and that’s all Kent needed to see to know that this would work out. He knows Jack, knows that Jack thrives off of approval. He needed that phone call, and Kent feels so giddy that he has trouble falling asleep on the bus ride back.

 

(They get home to piles of mail from coaches and laugh together as they open each letter together while sitting on Jack’s bed, Jack’s arm thrown effortlessly around Kent’s shoulders.)

 

_/   \\_

 

They’re seventeen, sitting in the school’s library, and Jack’s parents are there. So are their coaches, their teachers, the press. Kent is the one who leans forward towards the mic and says, “I am committing to Samwell College for this upcoming fall.”

 

The shutters from the cameras are deafening as Kent leans forward across the table to grab the Samwell cap and pull it on over his hair. He sneaks a glance to Jack, smiling encouragingly for him.

 

He watches Jack take a shaky breath before he finally leans forward. “I am committing to Samwell College this fall as well,” and he produces his own cap from under the table, and the shutter noises get louder.

 

The two of them are flushed and just beaming.

 

They won the Memorial Cup, they’re going to college together. Kent has never had anything in his life workout as seamlessly as this.

 

(Kent tells Jack he loves him that night when they’re curled up in bed facing each other while Jack is stroking through his hair mindlessly to settle his brain. Jack answers him with a kiss and he whispers it back.)

 

_/   \\_

 

Something changes. Something snaps.

 

And Kent is still suffering from the whiplash, shaking as he sits in the lobby of the emergency room. He’s hunched over, his teeth buried in his bottom lip, and he knows it’s bleeding, but he needs to bite down to keep from sobbing.

 

He already cried his eyes out in the bathroom when the ambulance got to the hospital. Kent also threw up, the image of Jack looking so pale while he laid collapsed on his bathroom floor with the pills strewn everywhere… it makes him nauseous. Every time he blinks, he sees it painted on the back of his eyelids, and he just wants to _scream_.

 

Alicia and Bob are there within four hours and find Kent sitting there on one of those vinyl chairs, rocking himself back and forth to keep from having a panic attack.

 

He thinks he hears Alicia tell him to go home, but he shakes his head rapidly, looking up at her with his glassy eyes that she pities him enough to pull him into a hug and stroke his hair just like he was her own son, just like her own son had done nearly every night at this point.

 

“We’ll keep you updated, Kent. Thank you,” she whispers, her voice tight and scratchy.

 

Bob’s hand is heavy on his shoulder, and when he looks up at him, he tells Kent, “Thank you. We could never… thank you.”

 

Kent nods dumbly, and watches as they leave to go to Jack and he wishes he could. He wants to be there, wants to see him, wants to know where he went wrong, wants to know how he could have missed _this_.

 

He stays longer, just hoping that maybe they would let him back. He contorts himself into a position in the chairs, and clenches his eyes shut. Maybe if he falls asleep, this will all be a dream. Maybe he’ll wake up in Jack’s arms and this would have been some awful, twisted nightmare.

 

Kent finds that it’s harder to fall asleep in the waiting room of the hospital than it is to fall asleep in the car, on concrete, in buses, on the floor, in someone else’s bed.

 

_/   \\_

 

He doesn’t know how long he’s there, he sees Alicia two more times, but she just offers him a tight lipped smile.

 

“Kent,” he hears at some point and looks up to see his mother looking down at him with the softest eyes, her hand gently cupping his chin to have him look up at her.

 

“Mom… w-what are you doing here?” he stammers, his throat so dry and tight at this point. She just shakes her head at his question.

 

“Kent, it’s time to go home,” she says gently. He somehow rises up to his feet, and she leads him out of the hospital and into the car that she carted him from hockey tournament to home every weekend when he was younger.

 

When they get to his host family’s home, they pull him into the tightest hug and tell him that he’s going to be great while his mom goes into his room to pack up his stuff. Kent doesn’t even think any of this is real, it’s just all happening around him, and he just had to watch everything.

 

They leave Rimouski that afternoon, and settle into the ten-hour drive back to New York. Kent’s sitting in the passenger seat with his knees pulled to his chest, his chin pressed into the pillow he is hugging as his mother drives. His eyes just bore out the window at the changing scenery, and the tears falling from his eyes silently soak his pillow.

 

He watches the sun set and watches as the roads are engulfed in the darkness he remembers. They get home at some awful hour in the morning, Sara isn’t even up waiting for them.

 

Kent just staggers through the apartment, goes to his childhood bedroom, and collapses onto the twin sized bed. He lets the exhaustion overtake him.

 

Part of him hopes that he won’t wake up, the other part still can’t comprehend how any of this happened.

 

_/   \\_

 

Jack doesn’t call him. Alicia does, once, to tell him that Jack was discharged from the hospital and will be attending a clinic for a few months probably.

 

Kent doesn’t know how to respond to that, just tells her thank you in a raspy voice and tries to push the thought of it to the back of his head.

 

Alicia calls later to tell him that Jack is doing well, that he’s left the clinic. Kent wants to scream, wants to ask why Jack won’t call him instead of her. He doesn’t. Just tells her thank you again, hangs up, and just needs to sleep for another day.

 

_/   \\_

 

That’s how Kent got this far, that’s how Kent got to sitting in the bleachers at Faber with his baseball cap pulled down low over his eyes as he stares holes through the back of the boy that was his best friend. His teammate. His boyfriend. His first love.

 

And Jack won’t even look at him, won’t even talk to him at practice.

 

Kent accepts it as it is, and just tries to ignore the pain that overtakes his chest every night if he lets himself think about it too intensely before he falls asleep.

 

This is where they are now, and Kent has to learn to play with this new team just like at Rimouski. And it’ll be just like the start of Rimouski where they didn’t need to talk to each other to score.

 

It’s just hockey.

 

 Kent needs to keep his head down and just play hockey.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was heavily pimms because i needed to establish the past okay (also i know that they're eligibility is up because of playing in the Q but i don't care and the comic ignored that so hA)
> 
> anyways
> 
> find me at kparsekpop.tumblr.com to talk about anything omgcp or fic related!
> 
> leave comments and kudos and inspire me to keep updating this fic on the regular (i'm hoping to do weekly updates? we'll see.)

**Author's Note:**

> this chapter was heavily pimms because i needed to establish the past okay
> 
> anyways
> 
> find me at kparsekpop.tumblr.com to talk about anything omgcp or fic related!
> 
> leave comments and kudos and inspire me to keep updating this fic on the regular (i'm hoping to do weekly updates? we'll see.)


End file.
